


Weirder

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, D/s, Face-Fucking, M/M, deancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4139037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not sure what to do when his prim, needy doppelganger shows up, but they strike up a mutually beneficial secret relationship before long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weirder

Dean was always getting himself into the weirdest goddamned shitstorm situations but he was adapting, running the survivor camp as best he could, keeping the infected at bay. He wasn’t on his own either, so that helped. Even fucked up as he was, Castiel was a comfort, and there was Chuck too, and a literal army of strong, capable people who kept everything together better than he cared to admit. They’d probably be fine without him. Eventually, they’d have to be.

Of course, it got weirder. It always did.

It got weirder the day he woke up and saw  _himself_  standing pale faced in the doorway, staring down with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. His twin was dressed like a fucking  _clown_ , red suspenders and a wide striped blue and white shirt with the most absurd white collar. Dean hadn’t seen anything so white in years. And a yellow tie. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually worn a tie, let alone a _yellow_  tie. The hair was weird too, parted with a fucking bandsaw and combed flat and he was sure he was dreaming. Had to be.

He wasn’t.

That was months ago.

It was him and it wasn’t him at the same time.  _Looked_  like him, sounded like him, but he called himself Smith. Dean Smith. So it was fucked up.

It was probably more fucked up that Dean didn’t tell anyone about Smith, not even Cas, although he suspected the former angel knew something strange was happening. Dean kept his doppelganger under lock and key in the back room of his cabin. He had him chained up at first, suspecting him of a proficiency at escaping but he was clueless, so he was basically free-range. He read a lot, worked out, had some windows. At night sometimes, he’d walk, either alone or with Dean, but the state of the camp, the state of the world messed him up. How could it not? Dean taught him how to clean guns and fix up special bullets and other grunt work, so he had that too.

Dean’s not sure when the rest started.

Smith had this way of looking at him that was utterly foreign on the familiar face, big blinking grass green eyes and that plush red mouth half-parted and a pliant, desperate stare. God, it was all too much. They were so different, so at odds and everything else was so fucked up that it started to feel sort of natural, the way Smith would flutter his eyelashes and sink to his knees and  _beg_.

After the first time, Dean swore it wouldn’t happen again. It was weirder than weird, letting that bizarro version of himself suck his dick but shit, he was good at it in a way no one else in camp was, and what did  _that_  say about the both of them? Wasn’t worth overthinking. So he didn’t.

Not too much, at least.

Dean unlocked the door after dinner and there Smith was, waiting for him, down on his knees with his head bowed. Naked. He was usually naked.

“There’s my boy,” Dean muttered, smiling slightly since he knew Smith couldn’t see. “Come on out, I saved some food for you.”

Smith still didn’t look at him. He didn’t have to, he knew the drill, crawling across the floor until he was directly in front of Dean, nuzzling his cheek along Dean’s leg.

“Gotta earn it though,” Dean told him, reaching down for Smith’s hair, tugging so he was looking up with those wide, blinksome eyes and that needy expression. Smith nodded imperceptibly and let Dean pull him up until his eyes watered, until he was level with his crotch, already tenting out in expectation. “Hands allowed today, and you’ll swallow. Yes?”

Smith shuddered out a sigh with his entire body, hands flying to Dean’s pants and tugging them undone. Usually, it wasn’t so quick like this, usually it was more preamble and no hands because Smith was too good with them. But Dean needed that fast, efficient precision today. Smith’s hands weren’t so hard and calloused as his own, almost soft while they stroked at his dick, twisted around his shaft before he leaned forward and swallowed it all down. No one else had ever been able to do that.

Dean exhaled sharply, one hand still fisted in Smith’s hair while the other curved along his jaw and slid down to his throat, rubbing at the bulge in it, squeezing to hold him still. Smith’s hands wrapped around Dean’s hips while he fucked his throat in long strokes, allowing no period of adjustment. He needed it right fucking now, but so did Smith; his eyes watered, tears ran down his cheeks, but past that he was all desperate adoration, blind desire to please.

It was beautiful, and Dean thought it was nothing like himself, not really, so it was always strangely intoxicating to see it on a face that mirrored his own exactly.

He could have held out longer, but they had all night. Dean didn’t say anything when he came, just grunted and squeezed Smith’s neck and pulled at his hair until his fingers hurt and Smith only choked a little around the load. His bright eyes went even softer, face and throat relaxing, body sagging forward against Dean until the hunter slid out of his mouth slowly. Smith nuzzled at his spent dick, at his always heavy balls, his breathing harsh and hands still desperate, even while Dean tucked his dick away again. For now.

“C'mon,” Dean rasped out, letting his hair go but giving a little tug at his throat until Smith stood up. He was still head down while he followed Dean to the table, standing and waiting at the end until Dean sat down. “Alright, get over here,” Dean muttered, slapping his thigh. He didn’t know when  _that_  started either, but Smith delicately perched himself in Dean’s lap and Dean didn’t hesitate to wrap him up in his arms, holding his pliant form while he ate, and for a long time after that.

Dean was pretty sure they were nothing alike.


End file.
